Rolling familiar off the path.
Doubts return to a settled mind, despite routine.
Who thought to build a windmill on the crest of that point?
Certainly, someone that needed a place like that.
It steadies the storm and transfers the elemental winds.
Stone and structure withstanding assault,
The light approaches reluctantly, as dark clouds come pushing the cloth and wooden wheel.
Turning upon points, and regarding no man’s worry.
Existing to work,
Despite its contemplation.
Walking away from it,
A weight is lifted.
Perhaps, a blowing wind knows how best to escape a storm.